Intoxicating
by QuietCacophony
Summary: (Nyo!LietBel, m!Belarus/f!Lithuania) Nikolai and Elena have a strange thing going on, but neither can barely call it a relationship. How, when it consists of nothing more than stolen kisses in darkened offices, the fear of ridicule from it, and next to no words exchanged?
1. Chapter 1

It was a well-known fact that Nikolai Braginksy loathed Elena Laurinaitis.

Well, to everyone else, anyway.

To everyone else, Nikolai avoided Elena; he looked down at her, he accused her of everything he could and blamed her whenever his sister got upset. It was an awfully easy act considering the glaring contrast between the two.

Nikolai was the younger brother of Anya Braginski, a woman that made people tremble with her eerie, sweet smile. And Nikolai was the only person who could scare her, though it didn't seem as if he himself knew it.

Nikolai knew how to fight, to handle knives; he was silent, cold, intelligent and possessive, with piercing indigo eyes and platinum hair.

For Elena, he was simply _intoxicating__._

Nothing had ever fazed her before, nothing as much as Nikolai did. He made her knees go weak, sent burning heat to her cheeks and a thrilling shiver down her spine. But then, she knew that her little crush was way out of bounds. For why would Nikolai Braginsky spare her a second glance; the shy, unnoticed secretary?

Oh no, Nikolai was not for Elena. Elena was the girl people passed by but never gave attention to unless they needed help.

And besides, them, together? That would be almost laughable. And what would people say? Feliks, Elena's best friend, would throw a hissing fit at her. And the others...

Well, what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

They didn't need to know of it all; of secret, sometimes stolen kisses in narrow halls and darkened offices, of few silent seconds after closing time after everyone else had left.

The first time was long ago, in the corridor leading to Elena's small office on a quiet night. It was a kiss far too long and hungry to be innocent. He didn't talk about it afterwards, he had left. The next morning he still said nothing and remained cold towards her.

For Elena, however, it had haunted her for days on end, plaguing her dreams and daydreams and driving her imagination crazy.

As did everything that came after it.

But he was always as if it had never happened. They would pass in the halls, with Elena's heart pounding wildly in her chest as she hoped for any kind of reaction, but there was never any as he would brush by her. It was some sort of maddening cycle, one she desperately tried to escape.

First were those few, breathless, _intoxicating _moments, and then after that came nothing at all, after breaking apart. But neither would acknowledge the other until his next move. Oh, if Feliks knew. These kind of relationships he would make a face at and call 'pathetic'. If he knew it was _Elena __and__ Nikolai'__s _relationship...well, all hell would break loose.

Nobody hated Anya and her family as much as Feliks.

But Nikolai had told her not to breathe a single word about it. He'd told her only once, in a dark corner of her office and with a steely glint in his eyes, but it had branded into her memory forever.

"You are not to tell anyone, you understand, Elena?"

If she closed her eyes, she could remember everything. Lips grazing her ear, fingers closed tightly around her wrists, her name in his voice and...and..._him__. _Everything.

But why Nikolai did it, to kiss her in that corridor on that night long ago, Elena never knew.

It was simple, really.

In Elena, Nikolai saw a fire that burned brightly and passionately. Yet, it was hidden under that mask of submissiveness to others, especially to Anya. This was the girl who had beaten Gilbert Beilschmidt, the fighter. But at some point, somehow, Anya had gotten to her. And here she was.

But despite his cold, silent act, she knew, or at least, tried desperately to convince herself that he felt _something _for her. She had to have seen it, even for only a glimpse in those eyes. Oh, he hardly ever talked to her, even in thos_e_ moments. Like the first, he would always leave without a word and she was left in the hallways confused and angry and alone. There hadn't been a single exchange of a simple "I love you". Of course Elena would practically slap herself whenever the thought came to mind.

Nikolai. Saying that. To _her__. _What a joke. No. Elena was completely enamored with him and he had her totally wrapped around his finger and both of them knew that far too well.

_Pathetic__,_ as Feliks would call it again.

Nikolai gave her nothing but empty expectations and nervousness and crazy dreams and disappointment and...well, those dizzying few moments.

Maybe she could wait just a bit longer.

* * *

This was originally in my compilation of Hetalia drabbles and one-shots, "Words", but I made it its own thing along with its sequel.

_Uhh__, __hi__. __It's __been __a __while __since __I've __written__, __forgive __me _ _and __my __writing__. __I'm __just __going __to __explain __a __few_ _things_ _on_ _Elena__._

_Right__, __so __anyways __some __might __get __angry __at __the __portrayal _ _of __Elena __in __this __fic__. __I __guess __I __did __make __her __seem __a_ _bit_ _weak __and__, __well__, __some __girl __pining __for some guy, __didn't __I__. __Again__, _I'm sorry_. __I __know __fully __well __what __she __and __her __original__ counterpart __is __capable __of__._

_Also__, __for __those __wondering __about __Nikolai's__ sur__name__-__ "_ _Arlovskaya__" __seemed __a __bit__...__off __to __me__. __Sorry__. Also, in this AU (human AU, by the way) he is Anya's actual younger brother. _

_The_ _original_ _idea_ _for_ _this_ _was_ _a_ _small_ _ficlet_ _of_ _her_ _admiring_ _Nik_ _from_ _a __distance __or __something__, __but __the _ _concept_ _of_ _both __of __them __having __this _ _strange__, __maddening__ (__for __Elena__) __relationship was __wayyy__ to tempting for me NOT to write. __What _ _Nikolai _ _makes __of __it__, __I __leave __that __to __your __imaginations__._


	2. Chapter 2

He knew of hate, he knew of anger. He knew of contempt, of neutrality, of disgust and disappointment. Saying he didn't know love, however, would be false.

Even though those certain emotions, coming from him, would most likely be interpreted as infatuation and possessiveness.

But as he stared down at the girl sleeping soundly on her desk, her hair free of the usual long braid it was always trapped in, the expression of constant stress and anxiousness void in her face, he felt something he knew would confuse and puzzle him for a long time.

What he truly could have - _would _have done if it were any time before that time, was shake her awake with a scowl and leave her with a harsh, chilling warning. But the hastily organized pile of folders on her desk and floor, the dried-coffee imprints of the bottom of her cup that spattered the top of the desk faintly, and her slumped figure told him not to.

Elena Laurinaitis had always been, to him, nothing else but his sister's secretary, otherwise the girl who got all of Anya's attention, the girl who may have once impressed him but now succumbed to a timid, reserved girl who grew stiff and fell silent whenever he entered the room.

He stood frozen to his spot, in the middle of her darkened office. He was aware of the rain tapping against the windows gently, the still air, the quiet buzz of office noise muffled by the thick walls and the narrow corridor that separated her office to the others. The strange, warm feeling never left him even when he pulled his eyes from her. There was something holding him back from leaving and, no matter how insistently he would deny it to himself, the single answer would be his curiosity of her.

He remembers he stood there until his feet ached, and that he did nothing but study the girl thoroughly, quietly, as if searching for the fire she had once possessed a long time ago; if she was still the same girl who stood up to others boldly, the girl who fought fiercely.

At the time it was only a new, sincere curiosity, but as time went on he found himself hungering for more than a little information.

He found his eyes zeroing in on her whenever she was in the room - _though __maybe __she __always __thought __of __that __as __a __glare__-_and his hands seemingly wanting to move in their own; to brush back loose strands, to be encompassed in the warmth of her own. But Nikolai Braginsky, doing _tha_t, would elicit wide-eyed stares and uproarious laughter. So he kept to himself, cool and quiet, and continued to remain wordless every time they passed each other. Until one night, in the darkness of a corridor and the silence of closing hours.

He kissed her.

He remembers that her fingers tightened around her papers, creasing them beyond repair; the choked, sharp gasp from the back of her throat, and that she practically radiated _warmt__h__. _He left after that, albeit hastily, leaving her alone and in shock with her face and neck burning.

It happened a few more times, neither of them speaking a word to each other after it. It was strange and foreign and thrilling, and he always found her growing stiff and uneasy every time he was within four feet of her; her eyes cast down to the floor, out the window, on the papers, _anywhere_but him. A few times, he had stayed for a few more seconds outside her door after she thought he had left, and heard soft, frustrated curses and angry sighs.

Sometimes he wondered what it would turn out to be if he actually knew how to express his feelings properly - to let all-too-familiar words roll off his tongue as easily as other words did. He wondered what Elena probably thought of now, what _he_thought of this mad, mad sort of relationship.

It was no secret - she _wanted_him. It was evident in those fleeting, nervous glances, her complete loss for words whenever he was in the same room as she, the dark red that tinted her cheeks as he stared into her darkened eyes in her dark of the hallways.

Maybe if he hadn't started out as so aloof, so cold to her, it would be a lot more normal. It was strange, really, how utterly out-of-place those thoughts were in his mind; how before he would scorn the thought of love and other things in favor of his infatuation for his beloved sister. But the conflicting emotions inside him rendered him wordless, unsure of what was proper to say and if it was harmless to, and so he doesn't.

They remain that way, stuck in a frustrating, maddening cycle that neither of them can escape unless one of them says something - _ anything._

He wonders how long they'll be left hanging.

* * *

_I __am __so __sorry__, __my __immense __love __for __these __two __forbid __me _ _to __finish__ writing __anything __else__. __I __looked __this __pairing __up __on _ _Google __and __I __got __what__, 5 __pages __of __results__._

_I __simply __cannot __live __off __those __meager __results__._


End file.
